


And Michael makes Seven

by BrowneyedShammer



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brotherhood, Comedy, Curses, Drama, M/M, Memory Loss, Multi, Other, Romance, Supernatural Elements, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-19
Updated: 2012-09-19
Packaged: 2017-11-14 14:59:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/516603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrowneyedShammer/pseuds/BrowneyedShammer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael’s a dick (even he’s aware) but first and foremost he’s an older brother, and after seeing the light he’s got a few things he needs to fix. Starting with Cas and Dean following Gabriel then Sam and ending with Adam. Of course his change in heart doesn’t mean he’ll make anything easier on the Winchesters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Michael makes Seven

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: foul language 
> 
> Disclaimer: Not Mine

 

  **Ch. 1: Siblings are a pain**  


He woke up alone in a field, sometime in the late afternoon thankful he didn’t have to crawl out of another grave like last time. For a moment he was confused and disoriented but soon got his bearings and started walking towards the dirt road cursing every damn Angel, Demon and God in existence. Dean Winchester was fucking sore, fucking tired and in need of a fucking strong drink. He checked his jacket and briefly thanked the sky to find out he still had his gun, a packet of salt and a wad of cash.

So being the strong willed, stubborn, self-centered creature he was Dean decided to deal with his raging emotions in the only fashion he knew; drinking at the local bar. It was a small place in an even smaller town and Dean wasn’t concerned about the date or how long he’d been missing. He just needed a drink

He’d get around to his other problems later….maybe.

Two hours later –still not sure of the time or date-Dean looked up from the beer he was nursing –six empty bottles accumulated near his elbow- droopy green eyes dulled with acholhol. He sat slumped against the bar, barely managing to remain seated on his worn wooden stool. Rock music playing in the background and had he been sober he would have been rocking his head in time with the music, but now it sounded like a low drone, maddeningly thumbing against his head, and the dim lights in the near empty bar too bright and loud.

“Who or what are you trying to forget?” A light voice asked as a person slid into the seat next to him.

The girl –or guy- had long wavy blonde hair and pale skin that seemed to glow in the darkened light. Their eyes where blue, a color that Dean’s sluggish mind connected to Castiel, which made him wonder where said fallen angel was before he pushed that thought from his brain. Castiel was the least of his fucking problems and the main cause of most of them. He’d punch the feathery bastard next time he saw him. Dean growled at the thought his hand tightening around his beer. He’d push Cas up against the nearest wall and show that punk who was the boss, angelic fairy powers be damned he wasn’t Cas’s bitch. If anything -…

A light cough brought his wondering mind back towards the intruding stranger. The person was either a tomboyish girl or very effinate guy; seemingly to almost not have a gender but just be. Dean tried to glare but it came out as more of a squint.

“None of your damn business,” he growled.

The stranger held up their hands at the harsh tone, their face impassive. “You just look like you’ve been through hell and back.”

“I have,” Dean grumbled, his forehead scrunching up as memories assaulted his brain. “Not sure what’s worse being tortured for 30 years or being hunted by monsters in purgatory.”

His honest retort didn’t faze the odd stranger who pulled on the large orange hoodie covering their torso, complemented with dark blue jeans. Anyone else who had heard that would have scoffed and added ‘you and me both,’ or given him the stink eye; only another hunter or Supernatural would have been so accepting. His warning flags, delayed by the heavy dosage of spirits pumping through his veins, never went off. He should have jumped up and knifed the bastard where he sat but Dean just grinned stupidly.

“Having the world on your shoulders, letting down your loved ones, and watching your loved ones die,” the stranger responded, their face shadowed but emotionless

Dean chuckled bitterly. “Don’t I know that feeling?”

“You should give your brother a call, you never know what younger siblings will do when you leave them alone for too long,” the stranger said in a light tone as if the thought of a younger sibling getting into trouble was a fond memory.

Dean’s head snapped to the side and he reached for the girl/guy and gripped their dark orange hoodie. “Who are you and how do you know about Sammy?” His other hand fumbled at his side for his gun but the stranger just grinned, blue eyes cold and held up his weapon.

“I’m…a concerned party,” the stranger said setting down the gun on the bar next to Dean’s drink. “Stop wallowing in your absurd self-pity trip, strap on a pair and go find your brother.”

Dean blinked slowly as the stranger stood up, pushing his hands away that fell heavily into his lap and walked out. Leaving him once again alone on an empty barstool. Dean waved the bartender over who had been ignoring the two, the moment the guy/girl sat down next to him.

“Did you know that guy that was sitting next to me?”

The bartender an elderly man with ripped off sleeves and a gray beard, furrowed his bushy brow and cleared the drinks away in front of the sloshed hunter. “The moment you start seeing people that ain’t there, you’re done,” the man informed Dean with a shake of his head, eyeing the firearm wearily.

Obviously the thing wasn’t human because Dean knew he wasn’t hallucinating and the Bartender didn’t see it sit down.  His gun was really on the bar and he hadn’t pulled it out. So he wasn’t crazy and something just gave him a warning. Shoving the weapon back into his jacket Dean sighed heavily.

“Damn magical fuckers,” Dean cursed laying his head down on the cool wood of the bar. He languidly raised his head and pushed himself up. Stumbling slightly before heading to the door, and dropping a bunch of bills for his drinks at the bar. Outside the cool air shocked his senses and he perked up a bit. A phone booth stood under a street lamp across the street, Dean crossed the dark street-not bothering to check for cars- and fumbled around in his jacket for a few coins. He dialed the number and waited.

“Hello?” Sam’s gruff voice demanded.

Dean chuckled without emotions, his heart like stone. “This becoming more of a common occurrence than I feel comfortable with.”

“Dean?”

“Yeah it’s me Sammy,” Dean said with a long sigh, he looked up from the phone and glanced around. “I’m in Churchill, Nevada.”

“I’m on my way,” Sam said after a long pause.

The pause and hesitation is Sam’s voice was strange but after his night not the oddest thing. “Where’s our favorite feathery bastard?”

Another long pause. “He’s not with you?”

“No I woke up alone in a field, nothing was damaged and I was clean of handprints.”

The next pause was even longer, Dean was almost sure Sam had hung up before he spoke again. “I’ve got to finish something but I’m on my way.”

“Thanks Sammy,” Dean said tiredly.

“Get some rest Dean,” Sam said in a tired tone that was laced with affection before he hung up.

After the bizarre phone call Dean located the nearest cheap hotel and fell into the bed, not even bothering to turn on the lights. He didn’t want to think and he was dreading the morning, just knowing he’d be flooded with feelings he truly wanted to fucking avoid. Dean buried his head into the pillow that smelt like old cigarettes and cheap perfume the name ‘Cas,’ on his lips and the yellow haired stranger on his mind.

What the hell was going on?

-/-/-/-/-/-

Sam came a day later with blood-shot eyes, grated nerves, Dean’s baby dusty and in need of a wash. Dean bullied Sam into the other bed after a long hug, promising to talk once Sam slept a few hours, because Dean had the suspicion Sam didn’t sleep to get to him. Dean sat on the bed across from his brother, just watching Sam’s chest fall as he breathed. He hoped his brother was free of nightmares, a naïve thought as Sam’s face contorted in silent agony.

Nine hours later and the next morning Dean was still attempting to locate his angel with no luck.

“Castiel,” Dean called his voice rising. No response.

“Cas, get your feathery ass down here,” Dean repeated, looking up to the ceiling.

“He’s not coming,” Sam groaned, sitting up and rubbing the heel of his palm into his eyes with a loud yawn. “He always comes at your call and if he’s not here now, he’s not going to show up.”

Logic, always Deans Achilles heel but thankfully he always had Sammy to gladly point it out to him.

“What have you been doing?”

Sam sighed tiredly his shoulders sagging. “Adam came back.”

“What?”

“Yeah five months ago he just appeared in Bobby’s living room; of course after the mandatory check I knew it was really him. I’ve been training him-.”

“Sam!” Dean cried, upset Sam would drag the kid into their fucked up little word of horror and tears. Adam deserved better, hell after being Michael’s meat suit he deserved a long vacation.

“He’s got nothing left; the ghouls ate his mom, his girlfriend moved on and legally he doesn’t exist anymore. He wanted to hunt down monsters, practically begged me,” Sam defended.

“That doesn’t mean you should ruin his life,” Dean defended.

“Ruin his life? He’s one of the best hunters I’ve ever seen. He loves it,” Sam exclaimed throwing the thin floral print comforter off himself.

Dean gritted his teeth wanting to continue the argument but not wanting to fight with his brother after only returning. He looked down at his hands and chewed on the inside of his cheek. Sam mirrored Dean’s movements and rested his elbows on his knees, hating the dark and troubled look in his brothers eyes.

“Where is he,” Dean asked after a long moment of silence.

Sam looked up. “Who?”

“Adam?”

“At Bobby’s,” Sam said.

“You left him by himself?”

Sam groaned under his breath and looked up towards the ceiling as if asking for help before he turned his gaze back to his brother who was staring back at him with thinly veiled horror. “It’s not bad….exactly…..he’s not alone. He’s with a friend.”

“Sam we don’t have friends, our friends die,” Dean stated evenly, suddenly wishing he hadn’t have asked.

“Yeah well we do now, whether we like it or not,” Sam replied rubbing the back of his neck before languidly standing up. “Gabe bring him,” he loudly called into the room.

A flutter of wings and Deans third least favorite angel was standing in the middle of the seedy motel room with horribly painted walls and ugly floral print sheets. The short blonde angel looked exactly as he had right before his death and standing beside him was Adam, who looked alive and less haunted –almost happy.

“What’s up Dean-o?” Gabriel called out happily. “How was your time in purgatory?”


End file.
